


Junk Food and Dirty Socks (The Chex Party Mix)

by littledust



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:58:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4236390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha doesn't make the most appropriate appetizers for a Superbowl party. Clint's okay with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Junk Food and Dirty Socks (The Chex Party Mix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [igrockspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Junk Food and Dirty Socks: A Love Story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2185401) by [igrockspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock). 
  * In response to a prompt by [igrockspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock) in the [remixmadness2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/remixmadness2015) collection. 



> Did I write this in part for the pun in the remix title? ...yes, but I also adore fics where characters say "I love you" through their actions. Thanks for letting me play, igrockspock!

"Not you, too, Hill," Natasha says sadly.

Maria gives a shrug that's only half apology as she loads her plate up with chips and salsa. The other half of her attention is fixed on the screen. "Haven't you lived here long enough to realize that the Superbowl is all about junk food?"

"Maybe in the absence of _real_ food."

From the couch, Clint and Coulson whoop at the television screen. Maria's head whips around and she vaults over the couch, nearly upsetting the bowls of crappy Chex mix Clint insisted on buying. "That was _pass interference!_ " she yells at the replay.

"The hell it was!" Clint yells back at her. As far as Natasha knows, neither of them root for the two teams that are playing each other, but their loyalties are to the teams that beat their teams. It makes sense, in a twisted sort of way, like most things that have to do with American football.

Natasha likes rugby. There's more violence.

As the Superbowl edges into a ridiculous, sequined halftime show, Natasha nibbles at the appetizers she prepared. Clint's plans for a Superbowl party caught her in just the right mood to cook, and the chive blini with creme fraiche, quail eggs, and tarragon are both beautiful and delicious. No one's even touched the marinated mozzarella. She at least expected no one else to eat the arugula and bresaola salad.

Despite Clint's love of heckling pop stars who don't know he's alive, he pads over to the food table during the halftime show. "All those dirty dishes and nothing to show for it, eh?" he says, then takes a swig from his beer bottle. Damn it, Natasha _knows_ he knows the right way to drink a beer. "'S not like you to misjudge hosting an event."

"Yes, well, maybe I didn't research this like a mission," she mutters. Truthfully, she just wanted to make what she wanted to make in her own damn kitchen, no matter the carnage of pots and pans she left behind her.

Clint reaches past her and pops a whole blini in his mouth. He barely even chews it before he swallows it, then chases it down with another swig of beer. "Delicious," he says with a grin. "I'll come back for the salad."

"I can always tell when you're lying," Natasha says, but she smiles back anyway. "You'll do the dishes?"

"You know it," Clint says. He leans close and squeezes her waist, just a brief moment of contact before he heads back to the television.

They're not big on saying _I love you_ around company, so Natasha does the next best thing and slides between him and Maria, balancing a bowl of Chex Mix on her knees. She'll say the rest later, when Clint is up to his elbows in soapy water.


End file.
